It took several minutes, and her stomach muscles protested like crazy, but the rope weakened, and then, at last, it snapped. With her legs free Harriet was able to shuffle higher up the bed, giving herself enough slack to reach a rough weld where the bed frame joined the smooth tubing. The metal wasn't sharp by any means, but it was enough. She sawed back and forth, wrenching her arms repeatedly until the rope finally parted.
Harriet threw aside the pieces of rope and stood up … then had to sit down again. Her ankles were numb, and her legs felt wobbly and uncooperative. She didn't know what they'd used to knock her out, but it certainly hadn't worn off yet.
After a moment or two she tried again, staggering across the cabin to the desk. She leant on it for support and opened drawers and cupboards, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. A gun would be best, but by this stage she'd have settled for a commemorative dagger, a paperweight, or a sock filled with credit tiles.
Nothing.
Frustrated, she turned to the door. She could stay in the cabin, trapped, or she could sneak around looking for a hiding place. Well, she wasn't going to lie around waiting for Tyron to come back, so after a brief hesitation she made her way to the door. Her legs felt stronger now that circulation had returned, and by the time she activated the door controls she was able to stand by herself. The passage outside was flooded with light, and it curved away in both directions. Harriet could hear voices to her right, floating down a ladder which led to a circular hole in the ceiling. The other way echoed with the rumble of the ship's engines.
She turned left and strode along the passageway towards the rear of the ship. On the way she passed several doors, all closed, until she came to a larger, more solid door with a badge that read 'captain'. She paused at that. If there was a gun anywhere aboard ship, it was bound to be in there. Then again, what if Tyron was in the cabin right now?
Then she heard a distant shout from the flight deck, and she smiled to herself. Tyron was venting at the crew, which meant she could give his cabin the once-over. The door slid open, and she stepped inside. Tyron's cabin was large, with a comfortable bunk, a wooden desk and an easy chair. There was a safe set into the wall, with an old-fashioned combination lock on the front, and Harriet's eyes narrowed at the sight. If Alice's box was anywhere, she'd lay good odds that's where Smith kept it.
She crossed to the safe and tried the door, but it was locked. Then, with one eye on the door, she searched the desk and drawers. The bottom-right one yielded the prize she was after: a double-barreled blaster with a grey rubber grip and an indicator showing a full charge. She'd only used one weapon in her life, but this was the same principle and she'd soon configured it for medium power and a wide spread. She was facing multiple enemies, and she wanted to take them all down at once.
With the gun in her hand she felt ten times more confident. For the first time, she felt like she might get out of this thing alive. Then, just as she was revelling in her good fortune, she heard footsteps. The door was open, and she could either hide behind the desk or try to surprise whoever it was.
Moving quickly, she darted to the doorway and stood with her back to the bulkhead, the gun resting on her shoulder. Then she held her breath, and hoped that whoever it was, they kept going right past.
They didn't.
A man entered the cabin. He was shorter than Tyron, and heavier, and he was wearing a pair of greasy overalls. He was looking down at a thinscreen held in one hand, and as he stepped towards the desk he started his report. "Captain, I've finished the check on the starboard engine, and—"
Without hesitation, Harriet stepped forward and pressed the gun against his spine. "Make a noise and I'll blow you in half," she whispered, putting every ounce of conviction into her words.
— ♦ —
Teresa's ship roared away from Dismolle, rapidly leaving the planet behind. Alice was grateful for the thick jacket Teresa had given her, because the air in the fighter's cockpit was freezing, and every time she breathed out there was a thick cloud of vapour. Her fingers grew cold, and she tucked her hands in her pockets to try and stay warm.
Then she turned her attention to the heads-up display projected onto the canopy. It showed a map of the system, with the six local planets along with their orbital paths, and in the centre, the primary star. There were three or four other ships moving between the planets, and the one she wanted — Smith's, with Harriet on board — was marked in red.
Smith's vessel was heading towards the far reaches of the system, where both of the outer planets were following their respective orbits. Each of them was bigger than Dismolle, and although she'd never visited them she knew a few facts about them from one of Bernie's geography lessons. Cortes was a warm planet with active volcanoes, and, as far as she knew, a handful of scientific outposts. Vasquez was temperate, with forests and giant oceans that spanned the globe. There was one small city, not much more than a town, and a couple of settlements.
If she had to guess, she'd say Smith was heading for Vasquez. It had a dodgy reputation, and was exactly the sort of place he'd favour. She couldn't really picture him landing at a scientific outpost.
"He's heading for Vasquez," said
